Misguided Ghosts
by QuietLittleVoices
Summary: It's the end of the world but there might be some hope left on Christmas Eve. Alternately titled 'An Endverse Christmas Carol'. (Dean/Cas, bittersweet)


**A/N: **For the purposes of this fic, the events in the episode 'The End' didn't happen. Please read and review?

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The air is cold in the cabin, and Cas is asleep on the bed. Dean, however, can't sleep, and is walking around idly in the small space. He lights a fire to keep himself warm.

It's been seven years since Sam died. The anniversary of that fateful night in Detroit had passed only a week prior. _Nothing to kill the Christmas Spirit like your brother becoming the vessel of Lucifer_, Dean thinks with a humourless laugh, sitting himself down on the rug by the fire.

And then there's a rattling just outside the door, so Dean goes straight for his gun, and it's already level with whoever is about to enter when they open the door slowly, and Dean's left facing down….

"Sam." His jaw drops open at the sight of his younger brother. But there's something off about him, and the man that looks like Sam speaks almost immediately.

"I'm not real," he starts. And then he opens his mouth again, but he doesn't seem sure of what he wants to say.

"Why are you here?" Dean asks. The younger man looks pale, and unchanged over his seven years of being possessed by Lucifer.

Sam – or, the thing that looks like Sam – considers the question. "Probably 'cause you need to be reminded that, yeah, it's the end of the world, but you've let good things pass you by." He looks pointedly at Cas, who's still fast asleep in the bed.

Dean blanches at that, his mouth going dry. He licks his lips, and when he speaks his voice is low and he's worried that it's about to break. "I tried, Sammy. I tried so _goddamn hard_, but we just… we didn't work. There's not enough room here for me, him, the drugs, and the croats."

He can almost believe that it's really Sam when the visitor adopts a familiar pitying expression. "I know you did, Dean. But I'm here to show you why you should keep trying."

There's no way to respond to that, not with what he'd just said. "What do you mean? I've tried everything."

"You're going to be visited by three ghosts," Sam continues, as if the other man hadn't spoken at all. "When the bells ring, a ghost will arrive." He starts to turn to walk away but Dean scrambles towards him and tries to grab his wrist, but his hand goes right through his brother's arm.

"Don't leave," he begs.

Sam just looks at him sadly. "I can't stay. I'm not real, remember? Good luck, Dean. You'll need it." And then he leaves, the door snapping shut behind him, and Dean's left there alone. He only has the man he once loved asleep in the room for company, and so he goes to the bed and lies down in it, determined to forget the interaction and sleep. This whole thing must be a dream. He probably won't remember in the morning.

Except that just as he's drifting off, a bell tolls, and his eyes snap open. There's nothing that could have made that sound anywhere in the cabin, and he's on his guard instantly. And then he sees her, a little girl sitting on the sole wooden chair across from the bed, kicking her small feet back and forth and humming to herself quietly.

Her hair and skin are dirty, and he can see scabs on her face and arms, and her clothes are torn. She's no older than ten, and he knows who she was instantly.

"Maggie," he whispers, dropping down to his knees in front of her and taking her little hands in his, looking up to her face in reverence.

"Hey, Dean," she giggles, and he can feel his breath catch in his throat.

He reaches up to cradle her face. "Why are you here?" he questions.

"To show you how it was," she answers seriously. "How it could be again." She hops off the chair, and he stands. She reaches for his hand, and when he takes it she leads him out the cabin door. When they walk outside, it's midday and Dean knows instantly when they are.

Lawrence, Kansas, 1982.

Mary Winchester and her husband John sit on the floor in their beautiful home, with a young boy no older than four toddling around between them, opening presents and falling down frequently and with delighted giggles.

As Dean watches, the boy finds himself much more amused with wrapping paper than any of the actual presents he's opening. Dean, the older Dean, feels like he's looking in on something he shouldn't be, because two of the people in the scene are dead and some days he thinks he might be, too. He's watching the ghosts of people long dead in a happy moment. He wonders if this memory is part of one of their heavens. He thinks it might be.

"Can we go?" he asks, voice horse, not daring to look at the little girl whos hand is still in his.

She leads him to the front door and opens it, and suddenly they're outside a motel, and Dean can see himself and Sam through the window.

Broken Bow, Nebraska, 1991.

They're arguing about something, he can see through the window, and Dean knows what it is. He can remember the conversation, even if he can no longer recall the words. And he watches as Sam gives him the present that stayed with him forever, the amulet he wore for so long it almost became a part of him.

"I don't need to see anymore," he whispers, and when they walk through the motel door they come out in an almost identical parking lot, but almost twenty years later.

Ypsilanti, Michigan, 2007.

What he thought was going to be his last Christmas was one of the few he'd ever celebrated. The tree is sad, and is put to shame even by the Charlie Brown Christmas Special one on the TV in the corner, that he and Sam are watching. Except they're actually laughing at the presents they'd gotten each other from the gas station down the street, and they're more than a little drunk on the eggnog Sam had prepared, which was much more alcohol than it was anything else.

He's standing next to the impala, so he tries to get in the drivers' side and finds that the door opens easily, even though he knows that he must've locked it all those years ago. The car starts despite the fact there the keys aren't in ignition, and Maggie's in the passenger seat. He pulls out of the parking lot.

"Go there," she instructs, pointing to a side road, and when he goes down it he recognizes the way immediately, and is in no way surprised when they come up on a farmhouse. They park the impala, and she leads him inside.

They're just outside Lawrence, Kansas, in 2009.

They entire the house together, and given the way this night has been going, Dean's not surprised at all when the door swings easily on its hinges, even though he knows that there's no way he would have left it open.

He finds himself, Cas, and Sam in the living room sitting around a beautiful Christmas tree. They're all in their pyjamas, decorated with reindeer and snowmen and evergreens, and the morning light streams into the room.

There are only six presents under the tree, but the three of them look happy. Dean can remember it, and he knows. He'd never been happier in his life.

Cas grabbed two of the presents under the tree and handed them to Sam and Dean. "I got these for you," he says, and his gruff voice startles Dean. He sounds so… young, compared to what he became. In that moment, Dean misses him more than he ever has.

After the traditional response of 'you didn't have to', both Sam and Dean unwrap their presents, wrapped with care in the same tacky paper that they'd both used.

Sam unwraps an old book of monsters, one he'd been searching the internet for. "How did you find this?" he asks, in awe.

Cas just shrugged in response. "I had a contact who knew of its location."

Dean unwrapped the amulet. The same one Sam had gifted to him years prior. He gaped, and looked up at the nearly-fallen angel. Watching the scene, Dean remembers everything he'd thought at the time. And that he'd never loved Cas more than that moment. Instead of responding to the gift, the Dean who still has hope in his eyes reaches over to the still angelic man and pulls him into a deep kiss, one that leaves Sam asking for brain bleach, despite the smile on his face.

"Thank you," Dean whispers quietly into the skin of Cas' neck. "Thank you."

The Dean of now watches the scene unfold and doesn't realize he's crying until he feels his body shudder, and reaches up to find his face wet. When he looks down, Maggie is looking him with a sadness older than her body in her eyes.

"What's next?" he asks.

They walk through the kitchen door and end up in a familiar cabin.

Camp Chitaqua, 2011

The first Christmas in the camp had been a hard one. On everyone. The camp was more than full that year, and they all wanted to retain some semblance of normality.

There were no decorations, but Dean was standing inside the same cabin he'd called home for so long, now. He and Cas were lying in bed together, wrapped up in each other under the four blankets they'd pilled on them for warmth. He remembered that the heater had broken that year. They never fixed it, and instead had had to clean out the fire place to use that instead.

They'd get to it in about six hours, he knew. When they finally got out of bed and joined the others for the pitiful celebration of the season. They'd come back, somber, and slowly clean out the soot and ash, before bringing in some firewood and setting it alight. They'd both end up dirty and tired, but they'd look at each other and they'd smile. Because despite everything that had gone wrong, and everything that _was_ going wrong, they always had each other. They were constant.

But for now, Dean watched as they slowly woke up together. He watched a younger version of himself watch Cas right before he awoke, admiring how soft he looked in the mornings. And he missed it. More than anything, he wanted this back. How they could get lost in each other.

He turns away, and looks down at Maggie.

"How many more?" he asks, his voice rough and almost breaking.

She takes his hand and leads him away. They walk out of the cabin and into another, only a few away. He knows that somehow, while walking through the snow, they'd managed to traverse the years as well, because he recognizes the scene before him all too well, and it wasn't from the same year as what he'd just witnessed.

Camp Chitaqua, 2014

Maggie and her family had arrived the third year that the camp had been around, chased in by a group of the infected. Maggie was seven, and she was dying. She'd had diabetes growing up, and now there was nowhere to get her insulin, so her body was slowly shutting down.

She couldn't get out of bed, and Dean spent a lot of his time playing with her. Reading her stories, telling her things he'd done. He came to love her, as if she was his own.

She passed away at noon on Christmas day, and he was watching her last minutes. She'd been in a coma for a week, Dean and her parents fretting over her, and knowing that this was it. This was the end. Without looking, he opened his arms, and the little Maggie with him jumped into them, nestling in close. He rubbed her back and held her close as he watched himself cry by her bedside, feeling her pulse fall slower and slower.

Cas was there, next to him, a hand laid reassuringly on his back.

"She's better off," Cas reminds her. "Heaven's still good for children. This world isn't."

Dean nods, and sucks in a breath. "I know," he says. "I know. But… I'll miss her."

Cas moves to hold Dean, the both of them shuffling to try and fit on the chair. They stayed like that until Maggie's parents came rushing in, only to find their little girl bed and to break down at her bedside. That was when Dean and Cas left, retreating to their own cabin for a while.

They gave the little girl a proper hunters' funeral after that, with her parents' agreement. Her ashes still rest in an urn in the cabin where she died.

Dean let the girl down from his arms.

"Please tell me it's over," he begs.

She nods and leads him back to his cabin, and when he enters, it's dark and Cas is asleep and he knows.

Camp Chitaqua, present

"I'm never going to see you again, am I?" he questions as she stands just outside the door.

She shakes her head. "I miss you, Dean. You're in my heaven," she tells him, "but it's not the same."

"I know," he responds, and he leans down for one last hug, wrapping her tight in his arms. She hugs him back with her feeble little arms, and then they both stand up straight. He gives her a little salute, like he did when they were playing, and she returns it, face stoic. Then she turns on her heel, back straight like a soldier, and walks off into the night.

He doesn't get any sleep before the bell rings next. Instead, he lies in bed next to Cas, who's still asleep despite everything. He debates waking him up, but decides against it. He opts instead to watch his face, still so young in sleep. He looks almost innocent, vulnerable. Dean only wishes that that was still true.

And then, all too soon, the bell rings and almost simultaneously there's a knock on the door. Dean gets out of bed and opens the door to find Bobby at the door.

"No more wheel chair, old man?" Dean jokes, but the humour falls flat.

"I know you just saw the little girl, and I got no time for any of that blubbering nonsense, so we're gonna get to business. C'mere." Bobby gripped his arm and yanked him out the door and into the sunlight. "Merry Christmas. This is tomorrow morning. You and the angel are still asleep."

Dean follows him out into the sun, and two of the kids at camp, Max and Hope, giggling and building a snowman. They even grab a few of the passing adults and get help to make more snowmen, and it isn't long before there's a gang of them. He can't help but smile at the sight.

Bobby is already walking away, and Dean has to jog to keep up. They end up at what used to be Maggie's cabin, and Dean peaks in the windows to see her mother there, sitting on the edge of the bed and crying. Maggie's father had been killed on a supply run a year and a half ago.

They stop by the mess hall to see a group of people singing Christmas carols. Dean watches as he himself comes in, and the singing stops. He grabs food and he leaves.

Margo, the youngest child at camp, looks at her mother. "Mommy, why's he always so angry?" she asks.

The mother takes the girls hands and goes down to her level, rocking forwards on her heels slightly. "Because he doesn't have anything good anymore," the woman answered honestly. And Dean's struck by how true her words are. "He used to, but no one knows what happened."

Dean looks away and walks out of the mess hall.

"How much longer do you need?" he asks Bobby, looking out at the children and adults still playing in the snow. Now there's forts being built, angels being made, snow ball fights being fought. He can almost forget the world's ending.

"Do you got the message?" Bobby counters.

Dean thought about it for a second before nodding. "I think I do."

"Then let's go."

They return to Dean's cabin, and when Dean looks out at the world, and Bobby on the steps, the moon is out. It hangs clear in the sky.

"I guess this is goodbye," he says, because that's all he can think of. It's only a second before Bobby's hugging him, and he's hugging back. "I've missed you."

Bobby nods and lets him go. "Be good, alright? Don't come up too soon."

Dean swallows around a knot in his throat and nods. Then he shuts the door and falls into bed.

He's woken up by the chime of bells, and something deep in him knows that this will be the last time he hears them. He takes his time waking up, and when he does there's a familiar form standing over him. It's Cas, in Jimmy Novak's suit and trench coat. Dean nearly gets choked up seeing the damn thing, because now it rests torn and dirty at the bottom of his closet.

"It's time," says the angel. And Dean knows that this Cas is still completely an angel.

Dean doesn't ask what it's time for, only follows him out of the cabin and into the morning light. And as he follows the blue eyed man out of the camp, he can't help but stare. "I've missed you, more than anything," Dean says, but Cas doesn't reply. Doesn't even make it known that he can hear Dean. "I loved you. I think I still do," Dean continues. "But you don't feel anything anymore, you know that? You don't love me, you don't hate me – you don't feel _anything_. And it's killing me, Cas. I wish you would just leave me, plain and simple. We need things to be black and white, but they're not." A humourless laugh is pulled from his throat. He follows Cas in silence after that.

It feels like they've been walking for hours when they make it to a clearing in the forest. Dean knows what a mass grave looks like when he sees one, even though this one is covered in snow.

"Am I buried here?" Dean asks.

Cas doesn't reply.

"Are you?"

Nothing.

They stand there silently, the snow creating a muffling blanket, and Dean strains his ears for the sound of _something_ – _anything_ – other than the sound of his own heart breaking in his chest. He sits down in the snow and looks up at Cas.

And then suddenly there's two people who look like Jimmy Novak in the field.

"Fuck you, Dean," the newcomer says, and Dean wonders for a second if this Cas can see him, too, but the new Cas just walks past him into the centre of the clearing before falling down and pulling his legs under him. "Fuck you," he repeats, and Dean realizes with a start that Cas is sober. Seems like the world's finally run out of drugs and cigarettes.

And then Cas starts crying, shoulders shaking, head bowed, so Dean gets up and sits next to him, even though he can't help anything at all. "I love you," Cas whispers, voice broken. "Why didn't you ever see it? Why couldn't you save me?"

"You pushed me away," Dean counters, ever though Cas can't hear him. "But I guess I pushed you, too."

"Why did you leave me?" Cas asks the ground.

"_You_ left _me_. I see you all the time, but you're not really there."

"I hate you."

"I know."

"I hate that this happened to us."

"I do, too."

"We could have been everything, Dean. We could have made everything alright."

"I know, Cas. I know."

Cas sobs brokenly. "Come back to me."

Dean stands up. He looks at the silent Cas, still standing on the edge of the clearing, and when he speaks his voice is heavy. It's war torn and tired, weary and broken. "Take me back," he begs. "Back to when this started. I can make it right! I can fix this! I can keep any of this from happening! Just take me back to before any of this happened."

He's standing right in front of Cas as he begs, hands folded in the angel's lapels. And when the dark haired man carefully shakes his head, Dean feels a sob torn from his chest and he collapses onto the familiar shoulders. The shoulder's he's popped back into the place, the one's he's gripped when they were the only thing that he had left in the world to hang on to.

And when he lifts his head they're in the cabin, and the moon outside is still full.

"There's still a chance," the angel says. And then he's gone, and Dean's left alone with _his_ Cas, the one who's more often than not strung out on some new drug.

He sits on the bed and he can't keep his shoulders from shaking. And then there's all too familiar hands on them, steadying him. Holding him in place. Cas shifts to sit next to him in the bed, looking at him questioningly.

"What is it?" he asks, and Dean can almost convince himself that the other man cares.

"I love you," Dean answers. He looks right into Cas' eyes, blue and foggy, but only because of sleep this time. "We've really fucked up this time, haven't we?"

Cas doesn't respond, just puts his arm around Dean's shoulders.

"Do you think you could love me again?" Dean asks, even though he's not sure he wants to know the answer.

Cas nods.


End file.
